


It's Not A Faux Pas If He's Into It

by sevryx (Viridescent_Espionage)



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Awkward Peter Parker, College Student Peter Parker, Daddy Kink, Dirty Thoughts, Gymnast Peter Parker, M/M, Oneshot, Personal Trainer Wade, Size Kink, Spideypool - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-08 10:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19867822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridescent_Espionage/pseuds/sevryx
Summary: PP: When I die, you can have my PS4MJ: Why are you dying, exactly??PP: Called my trainer "Daddy" by mistake, so I'll be burning my house down and moving to the exact center of the woods.MJ: [...]In which Peter Parker is a socially awkward freshman college student on the gymnastics team who gets assigned senior student part-time personal trainer Wade Wilson. Huge, drop-dead handsome, cocky, muscular, handsy, flirtatious Wade Wilson. Can you blame a horny ninteen-going-on-twenty-year-old boy for one, tiny, little, naughty slip of the tongue? Wade's not forgetting it, that's for certain.*Inspired by the hilarious Kumail Nanjiani tweet*





	It's Not A Faux Pas If He's Into It

_Chemistry final on Tuesday. Turn in your final assignment. Project on human genetics due tonight before midnight. Do that first._

_No, eat first. Shower and eat first, then turn in the assignment._

_Wait a minute, no - turn it in first. You finished it already. Then relax. Shower. Eat._

_Yeah. Cool._

Peter Parker's head was a mess as he scanned his student identification card against the black reader, hearing the same beeping sound that alerted him everyday that the doors were unlocked. The same posters that line the apartment common area were up and peeling, just like they always were. The same outdated recycling posters, job fair posters, football team endorsement posters that had been there since the first day Peter had toured Midtown University as a high-schooler. That was a few months ago, and Peter was now reaching the end of his first semester in college.

Not to say that he was bored with the university, no. The programs were incredible, the staff was smart and the students planned to be smarter. Peter was dedicating his future career to scientific advancements that he could only dream up as a kid. He was a valued new member of the gymnastics team and if he had just a little bit more room in his schedule next semester, he was considering the classical dance classes that his friend MJ had been pestering him to join.

Peter's pocket buzzed, and he pulled his phone out to see a generic email alert on his school account. He adjusted his hood with one hand as he swiped at the alert to read the message with the other. He wasn't paying attention to where he was walking, but his feet knew where his room was just as well as his eyes did.

"'Exciting and important news for members of the Midtown University gymnastics team,' huh?" Peter read aloud. An email from the gymnastics coach, Mr. Stark. Skimming his eyes across the message, he picked up a few words such as 'new training regime' and 'new practice times posted here' with lazy eyes. His old sneakers barely made a sound as he scaled the four flights to his floor. He yawned.

Peter was in pretty great shape for a college student. He wasn't beefy or huge - he was slim, weighed not an ounce over one-hundred and fifty pounds, not a centimeter over five feet and eight inches tall. But he was lean and toned and most importantly very, _very_ flexible. He was a little thicker in the right areas, had the muscle he needed for the double bars, to lift himself where he needed to go, to flip and twist through the air or on a mat or wherever he needed to be. He was the _perfect_ _build_ for a gymnast.

He didn't believe in vanity muscles, but he eyed the 'new training regime' hyperlink suspiciously.

Listed below were personal trainers Peter guessed his coach had recruited for every performing member of the team. Including him. _Huh_. He stood in front of the closed metal door to his floor, furrowing his brow.

As he began scrolling down to where he saw his name in small black letters, a loud, abrupt noise echoed through the stairwell. Which did startle him. Albeit, not as much as the powerful blow to his chest that knocked the wind out of him, nearly threw the phone from his hands, and pushed him backwards off the steps.

Bracing for impact, Peter's eyes screwed shut as he threw his arms around his head to protect it from any unfortunate cement contact. As the soles of his shoes left the ground, it felt like the world spun around him in a split second.

But when the contact came, it wasn't with the ground. In fact, it didn't even hit his back. His eyes almost watered from the impact of his face hitting something _else_.

Peter cracked one eye open.

Instead of finding his own teeth on the steps beneath him, he saw his own fingers gripping the front of a red t-shirt. A red t-shirt tightly pulled across a broad, generously muscular chest.

Peter's hands pulled back quickly, as if he were touching a hot stove, and he slowly raised them palms-out by his own body in a defensive manner. He felt a strong (and rather large) hand relocate itself from the small of his back where it had been holding him, and eventually watched two heavy arms cross in front of him, both thick with muscle. Regaining his posture, Peter cleared his throat awkwardly and simply stared forward at the headless, broad, _hulking_ body which saved him.

Wait, no. Not headless. Peter raised his chin.

"Whoa."

A hearty, booming laugh shook the stairwell, and Peter almost fell again.

"I could say the same thing, baby boy."

 _Baby boy?_ Peter could feel the heat radiating from his face.

Standing before him was the great (or at least, well-known) Wade Wilson. At what was definitely over two-hundred pounds and a height that dwarfed Peter and potentially the majority of the planet, Wade was talked about frequently by a lot of the female population of the school, particularly the female gymnasts who Peter saw on the regular. Wade was a senior, majoring in some kind of health and wellness degree, maybe to be a physical therapist, from what Peter had heard. Short, dirty-blond hair and scruff that had _no business_ looking so right on a man made that chiseled face even more of a heart-stopper. Or, again, so Peter had heard, of course. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. Not that that was what _he_ thought.

Wade Wilson, on the other hand, was very sure of his thoughts.

While Wade was definitely widely considered promiscuous, he hadn't been seen dating anyone on the campus since he was admitted. Flirtatiousness, however - that was something he gave out like free samples. _Especially_ to those cuties he really, _really_ thought deserved to know how great their ass looked in skinny jeans. And _especially_ to those doe-eyed, fluffy-haired, pink-lipped pretty boys who ran face first into him in his apartment stairwell.

Peter rubbed at the bridge of his nose with a finger, eyes blinking away in discomfort.

"Oh, man," Wade asked, leaning down in concern, "Did that hurt _more,_ or _less_?"

Peter looked confused. His hand didn't move. Adorable. "...More or... Wh-What?"

"More than when you fell from heaven, you little angel."

 _Cheesy. Stupid._ Peter's mouth opened and shut again. His face felt warm. _Kind of cute_.

"But seriously," Wade continued, as if they already met. He pushed Peter's hand away, examining his nose in uncomfortably close proximity before pulling back with a smirk. "Sorry for almost launching you down the stairs, ah...?" He trailed off in question.

"Oh, um," supplied the younger boy, "Peter. I'm Peter."

"Wade. Wade Wilson."

 _I know._ "Nice to, um. Nice to meet you?" Peter looked pained. "I-I mean, sorry for, um. I was looking at my phone, and I didn't mean to just run into you like that, but, uh-"

Another bark of laughter.

"Don't sweat it, Petey-Pie." Wade grinned. "It was a pretty good excuse to put my hands on something as cute as you, even for just a second."

Peter was bright red. Wade stepped around him, making his way down the stairwell. Before his head disappeared behind the railing below, his voice shook Peter from his racing thoughts.

"You live on this floor, Peter?"

Peter swallowed. "Yes. I do."

Wade clicked his tongue. "I guess I'll see you around then, neighbor."

Peter blanched. Then, he smiled, albeit awkwardly.

"Yeah, uh. I'll see you around!"

* * *

Peter did not expect to see Wade here, or even this soon. And especially, not for this reason.

The night of their encounter had come and gone, Peter returning back to his room where he and his roommate Ned had spent the next few hours playing video games together before turning in for the night. While the meet-cute was enough to get his face red, Peter had found himself simply plugging his phone in to charge and skimming the email from Stark enough get the essentials.

 _Meet your new personal trainer in the private athletic facility tomorrow at seven o'clock in the morning. Be ready for consultation_.

What Peter didn't expect, however, was Wade Wilson, sitting shirtless in black gym shorts and sneakers, waiting for Peter Parker to come in for the first day of fitness training. The t-shirt didn't do that man justice. He had abs Peter had only seen on movie stars, including the impossible sheen of sweat that covered their torso as they walked up from low tide on the beach during a sunset.

His water bottle felt extra cold in his hands.

"Well, long time no see, huh?" Wade was grinning. His teeth looked flawless and lethal all at the same time.

 _God, I want those on my neck_. Peter's throat tightened. _No, wait, what? No! Shut up._

"Uh. Hey?" Peter said, lamely.

"I guess I pulled the long straw today, huh?" Wade said, approaching Peter and reminding him of just how much _bigger_ he was. "Lucky, lucky me. How are 'ya, Petey?"

_Jesus Christ, look at those arms. I wonder how much he can lift. Why is his voice that deep? So hot. Why is he shirtless?_

"Why are you naked?" The words rushed out of Peter's mouth before he could stop them. Immediately his eyes widened.

Again, that deep laugh echoed through the empty facility.

"I-I mean, why are you - not, you're not _naked_ , but, uh -"

"I went ahead and knocked out a workout before you got here."

_No wonder he's already fucking glistening, dear lord._

"But I can put my shirt back on, if that bothers you -"

"No!" Peter didn't mean to shout. "I mean. No, that's... uh." He bit his lower lip. "Can we start now?"

Wade was grinning, like he always seemed to be. "Alright. Have a seat."

They sat across from each other, Wade on a weight bench and Peter on a yoga ball adjacent to it. Wade had a clipboard in his hands, a pen scratching across the top of some form that Peter didn't particularly care about. He was too busy inspecting the way the pen looked tiny in his huge hands, the furrow of his thick brows as he concentrated on asking question after question, some about his weight, his diet, his height.

"Do you know your max for any sort of weight lifting?"

"No."

"Do you have a recently recorded mile time?"

"No."

"Do you know your BMI?"

"Um. No."

Wade made an indistinguishable expression, a cross between "this kid is an athlete?" and "we have a lot of work to do" mixed in with some pure, excited anticipation.

"Pull-up max?"

"Oh! I'm good at those!" Peter smiled, but deflated after a moment. "But I don't know my, uh. My max." Peter felt bad. "A lot?" He offered.

"Okay, um," Wade tapped the pen against the wood of the clipboard, clicking his tongue. "How do you normally stretch? Do you usually feel sore after performing?"

_My ass would probably feel sore after performing on your di-_

"Sometimes, yes."

"How about we start with that, then? Let's go to the mats."

The two men found their way over to an empty section of the gym.

"I know Tony usually has you guys do your own stretching routine, but he asked us to try a few new things with you guys just to see what would fit you all."

Wade stood a couple yards away from Peter, who was split listening between Wade's instructions and his own very poorly behaved thoughts.

"Sit down."

Peter sat.

The next few minutes were spent with Peter stretching his legs out at different angles, tucking them in, stretching out as far as he could go until Wade finally recorded something along the lines of "can do a full split and still touch his chin to the ground" with an iron grip on that poor, poor pen. When Peter laid chest down on the mat and raised himself up on his arms to stretch his back, Wade checked out his butt, very indiscreetly. When Peter stood up and planted two feet on the ground and folded himself neatly in half, his face touching his knees, Wade recorded that too. His mouth felt dry, and his shorts felt a little bit too tight.

The next half hour or so was spent checking out both Peter and Peter's form with push-ups, sit-ups, the stuff he was comfortable with. There was a bit of banter, of course, Wade's comparison to Peter's alleged gymnast abilities as some kind of spider-monkey power. Peter arguing that he was not a monkey, Wade asking just what he was other than _perfect, baby boy_ , Peter saying he was a _man._ Wade's quick quip of "whatever, Spider-Man" before a nearly impossible looking stretch made him temporarily lose his voice. A few adjustments and suggestions were made, as Wade was rather well-versed in such a subject, and Peter was no stranger to exercise.

It had been nearly forty-five minutes on the dot when Peter finally stood, breath a little heavy and a bit of sweat slicking up that pale skin.

"We don't have enough time to do everything today, but you said your pull-up max was a lot, so let's go ahead and figure that out."

The two of them walked to the bars silently, Wade for once too hot and bothered to say anything, and Peter too shy to even dream of it.

"Okay, go ahead."

Peter looked up, craning his neck.

"Oh, if you can't reach, I can -"

Before Wade could finish his offer of assistance, Peter was crouched, eyeing the bar like a hawk, before springing back up and grabbing hold of the metal bar with his hands. He hung there for a moment, swinging lazily and eyeing Wade with his eyebrows drawn down.

"What were you saying?" Peter looked genuinely confused, feeling bad for having cut him off. "I didn't mean to interrupt you, did you want me to do something first, or...?"

"Nah, never mind." Wade said with a smirk. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze to the clipboard once more. "Here, I'll just, ah. I'll stand back here." He circled around Peter, standing behind him. _I could get used to this view_ , he thought absently. "Try to count out loud for me."

Peter pursed his lips and blinked.

"One, two, three..."

He could do a lot of pull-ups, just as promised. He was a gymnast, and a damn good one, after all. Once he'd hit the twenties, each pull-up was punctuated with a little grunt of effort that Wade found rather attractive, though he found it in him to offer nothing other than to motivate the other to keep going.

"Thirty-four, ngh... Thirty-five..."

Wade was still staring at his ass, but was rather impressed with both that and Peter's growing total.

"Thirty-six... Th-Thirty-seven.."

"Alright, Petey, let's see how many you can get!" Wade clapped once, voice loud and enthusiastic. "Don't slow down now."

Peter's arms were beginning to tremble, and his breath was uneven. Maybe he should have paced these better, he thought. Too late now.

"Thirty... Eight!"

"A few more, now!"

"Ngh, thirty-nine!"

"Come on, baby-boy!"

_God, don't call me that when you know how hot you are, Wade._

"Forty-ah!"

"Come on, baby! You got it!"

"Fuck!" Peter cursed, shoulders protesting. "Forty-one!" He didn't think he could make another, and Wade sensed it. He walked around to Peter's front.

"One more! You got one more in you, don't you?" Wade looked determined, and so, _so_ hot. Peter felt a jolt of adrenaline, and his arms shook. "One more! Go!"

Peter's body was trembling, and he began to pull himself one more time.

"There you go! Yeah, baby-boy, you want this one, don't you?"

_Fuck yeah, I want you._

"You're almost there! Don't quit! Don't you want this one?" Wade was loud. And mildly suggestive. Peter would be thinking about how glad he was that no one else was there, but the only things racing through his mind was how his arms were about to give out and how sexy Wade was spurring him on like that, his pecs flexing with every encouraging clap of his hands. God, those hands. Peter thought about how they would feel around his throat -

"Almost there! Do you want it?"

"God," Peter screamed through a strained moan, "Yes, daddy!"

Silence.

_Oh shit._

_OH SHIT._

Peter swallowed hard.

Wade made a strained sound that was a mix between a groan and a quiet "guh."

Peter wanted to die. He froze, his chin above the bar and his body shaking. It felt like hours were passing by. He slowly lowered himself so that he was hanging off of the bars. Peter's lips were tightly pressed together, and he could almost see the blue screen behind Wade's eyes, his huge hands stuck together from his previous clapping, his mouth slightly agape.

When Peter's feet touched the floor, they were nearly silent. His arms tingled.

"I'm gonna, um." Peter's nostrils flared and his wide eyes stared adamantly at the ground. "I'm going to leave now. My max was, uh. Forty-two. You can write that... down."

A hand closed itself around Peter's wrist, and for the second time in two days, he nearly ran face first into that huge chest.

* * *

Peter closed the bathroom door behind him, eyes on the notification flashing across his phone screen as he sat down on the edge of his bed. A text from his non-roommate best friend popped up, and he opened the chat thread as he put his one nice pair of sneakers.

 _PP: When I die, you can have my PS4,_ he had texted earlier.

_MJ: Why are you dying, exactly??_

_PP: Called my trainer "Daddy" by mistake, so I'll be burning my house down and moving to the exact center of the woods._

Peter stood and fussed with his hair in the mirror for a moment before looking down at the ellipses in MJ's speech bubble.

_MJ: [...]_

_MJ: THE HUGE HOT ONE????_

_MJ: YOU DID NOT!! YESTERDAY??_

_MJ: OMG WHAT DID HE SAY? PETER NOOOO_

Peter bit his lip and grinned.

_PP: I'm going on a date with him tonight!!_

Tucking his phone in the back pocket of his jeans, Peter opened the door to find his face to the back of a giant leather coat. Wade turned around, that same stupid grin on his face.

"Ready to go, baby boy?"

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! And since I'm allowed to advertise on my own pieces, if you like my style and this pairing, go check out my other Spideypool work You Can Quote Me On That! It is my continual series of little Spideypool oneshots that also happens to be very close to completion!


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